Anger Management
by Mako Headrush
Summary: Challenge fic for a word prompt - the word here was "temper." Reno's impatience gets the best of him, and it's up to Rude to help him out. Reno/Rude, friendship/humor. Rated M for some language. Well, Reno's language, mostly.


**This is a short and sweet one-shot, done for a word-prompt challenge: the word here is "temper." Of course I thought of Reno for that! :)**

**Usual disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did. This is written for fun and not profit.**

* * *

Another successful Turk mission was in the books, and Reno and Rude had returned to Shin-Ra headquarters to the Turks' office, to file the reports required by Tseng and the president – and hopefully find some time to decompress and unwind. It had been a wet, miserable day, and both Turks were filthy, both requiring a scalding shower in order to rid themselves of the day's grime.

After they were both cleaned up and changed into clean, dry, suits, Reno sat at his desk and grumbled over his report. As usual, Rude finished his quickly and efficiently, and without a word, attached the report to an email, and submitted it to his superior by hitting 'send.'

Even though Rude hadn't spoken, Reno knew the man far too well after being partnered for so long. He didn't need to speak, really, for Reno to figure him out. The contented sounding grunt was a dead giveaway that Rude had finished his work, while Reno still struggled over his report.

"I hate you," Reno muttered, glowering at the bald Turk whose desk sat opposite Reno's. "Why are you always done first? Teacher's fucking pet, or what?"

"I don't feel the need to embellish the way that you do, Reno," Rude said calmly, the smirk apparently in the tone of his voice.

Reno looked back down at his laptop and away from Rude as he extended his middle finger. "Fuck you, yo," he muttered. "I don't embellish my reports."

"Of course you don't," Rude said smoothly , taking a magazine out of his desk drawer, as he sat back in his chair, thumbing through the glossy pages. "I'll wait until you're done," he added, peering at Reno over his dark-lensed glasses. "Grab a bite to eat after?"

"Fine," Reno murmured irritably, wanting to slap Rude for all his smugness. "How'd you get yours done so fast, though? You even took a break to get water," he grumbled.

Rude shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He wasn't about to critique his partner's writing style, especially when said partner was in a rotten mood to begin with. "Don't know. I just stick to the facts, like the boss said."

"Well, whatever," Reno replied, waving his hand indifferently. "Look, stop _talking_, Rude, so I can get this done, damn it."

Rude stared at Reno, but wisely decided not to reply to that remark. "Okay," was all he said, and all he _would_ say, until five minutes later, when Reno would loudly announce that he was "done with the fucking report."

"Send it to the Director, cc the President, and let's go," Rude instructed, already getting up from his chair.

"Done," Reno declared, shutting his laptop upon sending the email. "Let's get the hell out of here, Rude, I'm fucking starving, yo. Hey, I wanna get some of those peanuts from the vending machine, yeah?"

"But we're heading to the cafeteria anyway…can't you just wait?" Rude asked, mildly amused. The two Turks got into the elevator, and the doors shut as Reno depressed the button. The redhead shook his head, his fire-hued ponytail flopping back and forth.

"Nope," Reno declared, grinning cheekily. "Told you, I'm fucking hungry. I need a snack while we wait in line."

Rude groaned at this. "The cafeteria's not going to be that crowded this time of day, we won't be waiting long for our food," he argued. Suddenly, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened. "Wait," Rude said. "What floor are we on? This isn't the floor where the cafeteria is."

"No, it's not," Reno agreed, snickering. He waved to Rude, motioning to him to follow him. "Nah, this is the floor that has a vending machine where those peanuts I like are at."

Rude eye-rolled again. "Reno. They're _peanuts_. What the hell difference does it make?"

"_These_ peanuts are those honey-mustard roasted kind I like," Reno explained patiently. He pointed out the packet to Rude, the last one of its kind in the vending machine. "Ooh, look, Rude…see, we came just in time, they're nearly out of 'em!" Reno chortled, fishing in his pocket for a few coins. He fed them into the machine and pushed the corresponding button, grinning as he watched the spring uncoil to release the snack to drop to the bottom.

Except…it didn't do that. The tiny packet of peanuts hung there teasingly, taunting a very hungry Reno.

"Son of a bitch!" Reno shouted, pounding on the thick glass of the vending machine. The snack didn't budge. He kicked the machine, jostled it back and forth so hard it nearly tipped backwards, all while Rude looked upon the whole scene coolly, arms folded across his broad chest, not saying a word, which infuriated the already-pissed redhead even more.

"Don't just stand there, yo!" Reno shouted at his unflappable partner. "Do something, help me!" Reno was on his knees now, pushing the door open at the bottom of the vending machine, twisting his arm up crazily as he tried to grab the elusive bag of peanuts.

Rude was growing mildly alarmed, but did not show it outwardly, the more he saw Reno's arm disappear up into the vending machine. He could see the long, thin fingers scrabbling against the inside of the glass, nearly touching it...but Reno's arm was not quite long enough.

"I think you should just give it up, Reno," Rude said drolly, studying his fingernails. "Losing your temper over a packet of peanuts?"

"I did _not_ lose my temper, yo," Reno spat vehemently. "It's a matter of principle. Look...that machine took my fucking gil, and I want something in return for it! Plus I'm _hungry_!" Reno was now lying on the floor, his hand jammed up inside the vending machine at a crazy angle, almost making it look broken.

"Shit. _Shit_!" Reno screeched, his legs splayed out like a crab's as he tried to brace himself, grunting as he attempted to extricate his arm from the vise-like grip of the machine - but it was no use, Reno's arm wouldn't move up _or_ down.

"Something wrong?" Rude inquired with a smirk, his expression one of mild amusement.

Reno's lips peeled back in a snarl. "_Yes_, something is _wrong_, Rude, ya dumbass," he hissed through his teeth. "My arm's fucking stuck!"

Rude sighed, unfolded his arms from his chest, and reached into his hip holster for his duty weapon. "Move your head down, Reno - lower...okay, good," he muttered, training his gun on a lock that held the vending machine shut. As the report sounded, Reno screamed like a girl. "Fuck, dude!" he shouted. "You nearly blew my damned head off!"

"You want out of this vending machine, or not?" Rude snapped, pushing the door open slightly, then he pushed down gently on Reno's hand and arm, trying to free it from the other side. Finally, after a bit of slow work, Reno's arm finally popped through the slot, and he was free.

"Ifrit's ball sack, that _hurt_, man," Reno whined, sitting sprawled on the floor as he rubbed his sore arm. Rude reached over his head and into the vending machine, grabbing the packet of peanuts, which he immediately tore into, popping a few into his mouth.

"Hey!" Reno cried as he sprang to his feet, hand reaching out to grab the much-longed for snack, but Rude held it just out of reach, taunting his partner. "Gimme that! Those are mine!"

Rude smirked at Reno, and downed the rest of the peanuts, crumpling the foil packet before tossing it at Reno as they got back on the elevator.

"You were right, Reno," Rude said cheekily. "Those peanuts _were_ good."

"You're a _dick_, Rude," Reno snapped. After another pointed glare from Rude, Reno grinned sheepishly at his partner. "But, ah...thanks, yo, for getting me out."

"Anytime," Rude replied. "Just...don't do that again. Please."

"I won't," Reno solemnly vowed, shaking his head. "Guess I owe you lunch, huh partner?"

"Yep," Rude said, smirking as they reached the cafeteria. "I guess you do."


End file.
